


Impressions

by Lisafer



Series: Cavall's Heart [1]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Wyldon brings his new squire home, before they head up to the Scanran border.  Lady Vivenne isn't exactly pleased with this turn of events, but her youngest daughter finds plenty to amuse herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

January, 459 H.E. 

Lady Vivenne of Cavall was reading in the great room when she heard the call from the eastern tower. She listened closely to the bugle pitches, which gave residents information about the approaching party. The descending line of notes told Vivenne that her visitors were friendly. A slight trill at the end of the call was special, reserved for only one man. 

Her fifteen-year-old daughter rushed over to the high, large windows and stepped onto the mahogany bench that was built into the mahogany-paneled wall. She peered into the courtyard below. “It’s Da,” she announced unnecessarily. 

“You are not a common-born country girl, Margarry,” Vivenne responded coolly. “I would think that four years in the City of the Gods would teach you that the proper word is ‘father’.” 

“Yes, Mother,” the girl answered obediently. She sat down on the seat, her back to the window. They both knew Margarry was her father’s favorite child, but even he would frown if he came in to find her standing on furniture and calling him “da.” If there was one thing the Cavall family was serious about, it was etiquette. And Wyldon’s strict stance on decorum had been a factor in his being chosen as the training master for the realm’s knights-in-training. 

“Did you know he was to come home?” Margarry asked her mother. 

Vivenne shook her head. “He mentioned a brief visit with the pages, in the spring. But no message preceded this homecoming.” 

“He seems to have a squire with him, too.” 

Vivenne shot out of her seat. “What?” Her stomach twisted into knots. Setting the book on her chair, she crossed the room and climbed onto the bench, looking frantically out the window. “Where did you see him?” 

Margarry joined her mother, barely hiding her amusement. “He was in the yard a moment ago, taking Da’s mount. Clumsy little fellow, too.” 

They stared down into the courtyard for ten minutes, watching the servants bustle about, removing bundles from the backs of the two pack horses. Lord Wyldon and his squire were nowhere to be seen. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t a fellow knight?”

Margarry shook her head. “Not unless they’re making knights smaller and younger these days. And he was tending Heart. You know Da wouldn’t let another knight handle his mount. Only the boys he’s training ever get that honor.”

“Does the Cavall line descend from birds, or is it just a custom to perch on the furniture?” 

The ladies turned swiftly, finding Lord Wyldon and his squire in the doorway. 

“Don’t be pert, Jesslaw,” Wyldon frowned. “I thought I left cultured ladies at home, but here I find heathens in their place.” His serious face relaxed into a half-smile, an indication to his wife and daughter that he was actually quite happy. 

Vivenne lowered herself to the floor gracefully, smiling at her husband. Margarry, on the other hand, hopped down and flung herself at her favored parent. 

“Da! I was hoping you’d come visit soon!” She clasped her arms around his waist, burying her dark blonde head in his chest. 

Wyldon returned the hug, then gently pushed her away. “Da?” he asked. “Is this slang what they taught you at the convent?” 

The pretty girl blushed. “Not all of my friends have such severe parents.” 

The fifteen-year-old boy snorted audibly, but looked abashed when he was met with matching glares from the Lord and Lady of Cavall. 

“I suppose I should introduce him,” Wyldon said with a wry smile. “This is Owen of Jesslaw, my new squire. Owen, this is Lady Vivenne, and my youngest daughter, Margarry.” 

Owen grinned at the ladies. “Margarry? Isn’t that the Tusaine language? ‘Daisy?’” 

Vivenne smiled politely at him. “Quite right. I was born in Tusaine. Are you fond of language?” 

He nodded eagerly. “I’m fond of all my studies, really. Even the ones I’m not too good at—like some of the martial stuff.” 

Margarry raised her eyebrows. “You’re not good at fighting, but you’re a squire?” 

Lord Wyldon’s stern glance kept Owen from responding. “Daughter, he is a fighter through and through. He’s reluctant to speak well of his training because he’s kept himself in the shadow of truly gifted students.” 

Owen looked as though he was going to protest, but thought better of it. His ears flushed red, though Vivenne could not determine if it were embarrassment or anger. 

“And what brings you home when travel is so difficult, my lord?” She asked, changing the subject away from the energetic boy. 

“I’ve decided to take leave of the palace. I’ve resigned.” 

Margarry gasped. “Father! Just last year the king referred to you as the best part of the training program! How could you leave?” 

Wyldon’s lips formed a tight line and his brown eyes met his wife’s with a silent plea. He looked older, she realized. And full of sorrow. “It’s not appropriate to question your father in this manner, Margarry. Why don’t you show Squire Owen to the southern guest quarters? Certainly he would like a nap or a bath before we dine this evening.” 

They left quietly, but within four steps they were talking excitedly about news in Corus. Wyldon’s eyes followed them, and didn’t look at his wife until she addressed him. 

“I knew it as soon as Margarry mentioned that you had a squire with you. It’s been sixteen years since you took one.” 

He nodded curtly. “Have you heard from Buchard recently?” 

“I’ve heard the news of his son,” she answered. Confusion marred her pretty face. “What has that to do with your resignation? Certainly you don’t hold yourself responsible for a boy’s failure. Only the gods determine death and worthiness in the Chamber of the Ordeal.” 

Wyldon sat down, his expression troubled. “It wasn’t just Joren. Vinson of Genlith also failed, though he is still alive. He wasn’t prepared for the Chamber - neither of them were.” 

“But the rest of their class succeeded - you are as much responsible for their successes, and that outweighs two failures!” 

His eyes were sharp when he looked up at her again. “Vivenne, they failed because I practically encouraged the rigidity of their souls. I taught them that strength and nobility came before compassion and compromise. I did not teach them the lesson that nobles are responsible for their actions, and that good behavior is a matter of thought was well as action. They were not good young men, and I never stopped them. I never corrected them." 

“And you will correct this by abandoning the boys who are yet to become knights?” 

Wyldon sighed. “No. I will correct this by doing my work where it’s most needed. The king has granted my request for a position in the north this coming spring. I intend to help the troops against Scanra.” 

“And who will train the realm’s pages and squires?” 

“Padraig.” 

Vivenne nodded. “I suppose that’s the next best choice. It’s not as though you loved this work, anyway. Especially these last few years, with the Mindelan girl in your ranks.” 

“She’s the best of the lot, to be frank.” 

Vivenne peered at him with level, humorless eyes. “Surely my husband hasn’t developed a sense of humor in his absence. Please tell me you have not succumbed to this _propaganda_ with which the king and his Champion have been fertilizing the nobles.” 

Wyldon sighed. “It’s not propaganda, dearest. The chit has proven herself over and over. She’s a valiant fighter - the best of her class - and I was wrong to have protested her on the basis of her sex.” 

She scoffed. “Wyldon, if I didn’t know you better I would say you were bewitched. How can she be the top of her class? I saw you throw her from her saddle in a tournament. Certainly she isn’t the best.” 

“Very few stay in their saddles when I joust. Even Goldenlake has been bested by my abilities - you could hardly expect a student to stay in the saddle at all, yet she managed for two passes.” His face was hard. 

“Still,” Vivenne protested, grasping for argument’s sake. “Women are weaker, and should dedicate their meager fighting skills only when the fief is in danger.” She herself had helped to defend her father’s Tusaine home during the Drell River battles so many years before. 

“No,” Wyldon disagreed softly. “I thought that once, but now I see that some women are strong enough to compete with men and win. Some women are born to a soldier’s life. I thought the queen was a savage when she began her Rider groups, but they’ve proven themselves against bandits. I thought the Lioness was merely a tool of the Gods who used their power to distort the balance between the sexes, but now I wonder if she didn’t work just as hard as Mindelan has done. The girl is a gifted fighter with the ability to lead rationally. And I tried to stop her, this girl who is exactly what the realm needs.” He clenched his large hands into fists and stood, facing his wife. “Know that I will no longer speak out against the girl, and I will not tolerate any slander against her or her training. I am the first to admit when I am wrong, Vivenne, and I was quite wrong about this young lady.” 

Lady Vivenne watched in silenced astonishment as her husband rose and left the room. This was not the kind of reunion she had expected with him. 

***

Wyldon left the library and made his way to the kennels - the most famed in all of Tortall. Although the dogs were great investments, they also provided faithful companionship when he was displeased with humans - something that happened more and more these days. 

_If I didn’t know you better, I would say you were bewitched._ His wife’s words rang in his ears. 

He had heard the accusations many times over the last six years. And he had heard rumors circulating among the conservative knights that placed Kel in bed with Raoul of Goldenlake, or others of the King’s Own. 

They had bothered Wyldon before: certainly Raoul was a good man, despite his Progressive ideals. He was one of the better knights of the realm. But recently the insults had begun to upset Wyldon in a new way. Not only were they claiming that he was unfaithful to his wife, or Raoul would take advantage of his squire - but they were also sullying Kel’s name. 

She was a good, honest girl. At sixteen and a half, she had never given anyone reason to think she was anything but virginal. During her four years as a page she had adhered to his “open door” policy. Her free time had been limited, but servants reported that she had been in charge of study groups. If she had ever been romantically interested in another page, it never manifested itself publicly in any form but friendship. 

_What kind of person ruins a girl’s reputation without knowing her?_ But he knew the answer. Even if he ultimately lived by the Code, he, too, was guilty of assuming the worst of her — even when he knew what she was like. 

He walked to the fenced yard where the hounds ran. Getting away from the palace was nice: horses and dogs behaved less like humans in these parts of the realm. Several dogs approached the fence, sniffing and nuzzling against his hands. He patted them affectionately, simultaneously evaluating the quality of their coats and facial structures. This was a good group.

“The steward said I would probably find you here,” Owen said, approaching from the kitchens. “Your things have been taken to your rooms, and Lady Vivenne asked me to tell you that she will not be eating supper with us. She has taken to bed with a headache.” 

“Yes, I suspected as much,” Wyldon sighed. 

“Do you have a healer who can see to her?” Owen asked. “I can go to the village and fetch one, if you would give me directions.” 

Lord Wyldon shook his head. “My wife is merely upset with me — no healer can cure that kind of headache.” 

Owen frowned and shuffled his feet. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but...” 

“Yes?” Wyldon did not like wibbling, and would rather have his squire get straight to the point. 

“Is she upset because you are home, and no longer the training master?” 

“No,” he answered after a pause. “Training was never my favorite thing to do. I accepted the position because my king needed me. I stayed on because I thought I was good at it. Lady Vivenne knows that I will be happier away from the palace.” Owen’s eyes were still full of questions, so Wyldon decided to nip it in the bud. “She is upset with me for reasons that are not important to your training.” 

Owen’s face fell. Wyldon was reminded to someday instruct him on the importance of controlling one’s expressions. It could save his life one day. 

“Come, squire,” he said finally. “Let us find you a proper mount. I have a warhorse in mind for you.” 

***

Dining at Fief Cavall was peaceful compared to the pages’ mess or the busy inns they’d stopped at during the long ride east. Margarry and Owen talked about their educational experiences while Lord Wyldon ate in silence, pretending to take no heed. The last thing he wanted was a smitten squire, so he listened and kept himself ready to redirect the conversation at any given moment. 

“I have three older sisters,” Margarry told Owen. “Eiralys has been married for several years, into the Nond family. Sunarine married two years back, and now she lives in Persopolis. And Cathrea, who’s a year older than me, studies at the Royal University.” 

“Is she Gifted?” Owen asked eagerly. 

“Yes. Only one in the family. Mother says there were some powerful mages in her lineage. They thought it was bred out of the family, in fact, until Cathrea started playing with floating balls of light as a baby.” She stole a glance at her father and grinned. “Da’s family tree is notably unGifted.” 

“What is she studying?” Owen was smart enough not to share her smile at his knight-master’s expense. 

Her mouth was full of rabbit stew, so Wyldon answered in her stead. “She showed an astounding aptitude for divination, and left the City of the Gods two years ago. She’s been studying in Corus ever since. She’s currently considering entering the service of the Goddess as a priestess.”

Margarry’s brown eyes were lit with excitement. “Can you imagine moving to Corus at fifteen — free from parents?” 

Owen stole a glance at Lord Wyldon’s dark expression before answering. “Well, I’ve been in Corus since I was ten. But I imagine palace life is more limited than the university.” He tore a chunk of bread free and dipped it into his stew. “And I’m sure my lord kept his eye on her while he was in the city.” 

Margarry giggled. “Father is overprotective, so you’re probably right.” 

“I am not,” Wyldon said sternly. They exchanged knowing glances, much to his irritation. “Cathrea is a responsible girl, and I trusted her completely. Which is more than I can say for you, Margarry.” 

She looked up at her father, her eyes wide with innocence. 

“Don’t give me that look,” he commanded. “Just because I’m in Corus most of the year does not mean I haven’t heard about your studies.” 

Her smile slipped momentarily. “I didn’t mean any harm,” she said softly. She turned to Owen and explained softly. “We wanted to see more of the city, but we had a curfew. So we sneaked out of the convent.” 

Owen’s eyes showed a mixture of surprise and admiration. Seeing this in his squire’s face, Wyldon had to bite back a groan. What had he been thinking, taking on this hellion? 

“The letters your mother sent me mentioned several escapades of this nature, among other discrepancies,” he reminded her with a dry voice. 

“But I’m home now, Da, so you can keep your watchful eyes on me.” Margarry smiled lovingly at her father, knowing that he never stayed angry with her for long. 

“I’m here for only three months. Then Squire Owen and I will be heading north, to the border.” 

“You’ll be fighting the Scanrans?” she asked. “Will you need healers’ assistants? Or scribes?” 

“Yes, we will. But the Royal University provides us with all the scribes we need. And the healers have plenty to do their simple care-taking.” He did not want any of his daughters near the front, if it could be helped. It was bad enough that Cathrea might be required, with her soothsaying abilities — if Margarry went as well.... He shook his head. No, his youngest daughter could try all she wanted, but she would remain in Cavall, if not deeper into Tortall. Perhaps she could go to Corus, with her mother, if Vivenne was willing to leave the stables and kennels. 

“You probably don’t want to see war,” Owen’s voice was low and serious — and quite unfamiliar to Lord Wyldon. “Combat isn’t as glorious as the bards make it out to be. People don’t die pretty.” 

Margarry’s eyes widened with fear and respect. 

Wyldon sighed inwardly. He’d told her the same thing plenty of times. _I suppose some things need to be heard from a peer rather than a parent. Still, common sense should’ve told her as much._

“If you don’t like fighting, why are you becoming a knight?” 

Owen looked at her strangely. “I do like it,” he answered. “But even if I didn’t, there are some jobs that just have to be done. Ridding the country of bandits and thieves and murderers is a nasty job, but I want to do it.” 

“Why you?” she asked sharply. “There are plenty of men in the King’s Own. There are plenty of knights. You could’ve studied at the University — wouldn’t you prefer a life of scholarship?” 

“Margarry,” Wyldon said sharply. “Must you wheedle his life story from him during your first day together? Let him be. Tomorrow, Jesslaw, we will begin working on your swordplay. Since your staff-work and wrestling are up to par, we’ll hone the rest of your skills.”


	2. Settling In

Life was not easy in Cavall – at least not for Squire Owen. He was required to keep his mount, gear, clothing, quarters, and weapons in pristine condition. In the tradition of squires of the realm, he was also responsible for Lord Wyldon’s mount, gear, and weaponry. This was, of course, not completely unfamiliar to Owen, but after a year with Sir Myles, he had forgotten Lord Wyldon’s specific idea of cleanliness and orderliness of a knight-to-be.

Over the next two weeks they revisited lessons of old: hunting, tracking, mapreading and orienteering, tactics, combat. After that, Wyldon threw in additional lessons about solitary survival and even breeding and training dogs. Owen learned that his knight master was much different in a one-on-one setting. As training master, Wyldon has needed to establish authority via severity. When dealing with one teenage boy, however, Wyldon was not so imposing. He made good on his promise to work Owen like a horse, but he was a great deal more tolerant of him than he had ever been with him as a page. 

There were, of course, the moments when Owen brought out Wyldon’s ire and impatience. And while Owen had been accustomed to punishment as a page, he found that he was less content with the situation now as a squire.

As a page, Owen had cherished the knowledge that he was the in the right. Every time Joren or Quinden started a fight, and every time he and Kel finished it, he knew in his heart what provoking meant, and he knew that he was doing what was morally right to protect himself and his friends. He would stand before Lord Wyldon with pride, insisting that he had fallen down. He didn’t care if the training master found out what happened because he had not started the conflict. He would certainly not tell the training master what had transpired, but he would know in his heart that any man worth his salt would have done the same if faced with such insults or bullying. 

The circumstances were different now. Owen disappointed his knight master less often than he had as a page. But on the occasions that he did, there were no hours in the armory to serve as punishment. He was given more work, certainly, for every error. But he also saw disappointment and occasionally anger in Wyldon’s face, rather than the passive analytical expression he had seen for years before.

Lord Wyldon was a more open man now that he was away from the palace. He was certainly more guarded than most people Owen knew, but he was far changed from the man who had been the training master. There were times that he would let Owen ask him questions – personal things, like the story of his first combat experience. He smiled more often. In fact, Owen couldn’t remember having ever heard Wyldon laugh; now that they were at Fief Cavall, he learned the entire range of Wyldon’s amusement. There was the quiet chuckle when he was amused at his squire’s audacity, and the short bark of a laugh when something surprised him. But best of all were the long, hearty gales of laughter that only Margarry could incite. 

There was a time when Owen would have been afraid to approach Lord Wyldon. Even when he was asked to be his squire he had been nervous. Now he found that the quiet time spent in Wyldon’s study, pouring over maps and discussing the best way to man a fortress, were his favorite part of the day.

It was even better than the suppers he had with Margarry.

Margarry was a problem for Owen. He never knew what to think of her: she would taunt him one minute and compliment him the next. She was quite pretty, and Owen was generally nervous around pretty girls. The Jesslaw family was all male, save his little sister, and Owen’s only real experience with girls was with Kel. And though Kel had revealed that she was more girl than he’d initially thought, she was still one of the squires. She didn’t play at coquettishness the way Margarry did. And her eyes didn’t flash angrily when Owen said something unsatisfying, or fill with tears when he was cruel.

Owen didn’t mean to be cruel, of course. He didn’t think he had it in him to intentionally hurt a girl he liked. However, there were times he couldn’t lie to a lady, either. When Margarry asked if she looked silly with her hair up in a popular upsweep, he frankly explained that her neck was too scrawny in comparison to the women he had seen at court. There were plenty of scenarios like that: he had unintentionally insulted her intelligence, her looks, her manners. 

But she was the most fascinating girl he had ever met. Often during his one hour of free time each day, they would sit together discussing history or linguistics. She checked over his mathematics the way Kel once had, and even engaged in philosophical discussions without burdening him with quotations and theories the way Neal always did. They shared stories of their very different childhoods – living in the heavily wooded Drell River valley was much different from the rolling farm-country south of Corus, he learned. And with each conversation, he became more attached to her. He would consider her among his closest friends, were anyone to think of asking him about such things.

And sometimes she would beam at him over the candlelight at supper and he would forget that Lord Wyldon or Lady Vivenne were in the room. Her dark eyes would sparkle and her smile would bewitch him. 

She was not the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The palace had been full of young beauties, and he had been dazzled to timidity by each and every one of them. Margarry was simply pretty, with her dark blonde curls and her delicate face. Her eyes were too big, her mouth too wide. Perhaps she would grow into the beauty of her heart-shaped face. At barely sixteen she was short, and far too slender; her wrists were so tiny Owen was sure he could snap them. But there were times when she would laugh along with her father and Owen would feel his heart suddenly beat faster. Yes, there was something striking about Margarry of Cavall.

***

Margarry loved it when her father was home. He had been the training master for the realm’s knights for nearly all of her life, and she saw him only in the summer, or when her mother traveled to Corus. For a while, he brought the pages to Fief Cavall in the summers, but those few fun weeks ended when her eldest sister was twelve. Lord Wyldon never explained the halt, but she suspected it was to curb any romantic inklings Eiralys might have developed for some of the pages. 

But still – the summer months when her father returned from the capital were golden to her. Lady Vivenne sang more often, the dogs were livelier – Margarry suspected that the lengthening of days had as much to do with the Lord of Cavall as it did with the cycle of the Gods.

Lord Wyldon was an attentive father; he spent as much time as he could with his daughters, riding through the countryside or reading to them. He was a generally a quiet man, but he always had time to converse with his girls. He was closest to Margarry, of all his daughters. She knew it was because they shared the same affection for hounds, but perhaps it was because she loved learning history lessons from him. Or because he knew how difficult life could be as a younger sibling.

After the older girls married, Margarry loved his visits even more. There was no more time spent dealing with Eiralys’s and Suranine’s squabbling, or all the formal visits from other families, trying to secure a marriage match with someone who could take up their own issues with the crown. Margarry did not care for the politics of marriage, and she liked to have the father who listened to her jokes and discussed books with her.

Things felt different, though, this time. She wasn’t sure if it was her father’s sudden resignation or the appearance of a squire, or even the day to day tensions between her parents – whichever one it was, it took some of the joy out of her life. Maybe it was all three.

Her parents had been out of sorts before. Right after the war, when her father had been nearly killed, her mother had begged him to resign. At the time she believed it was due to the danger he had been in, but later Margarry learned that their argument had been about a young girl named Keladry of Mindelan, who wanted to earn her shield. And since then there had been more arguments – disguised, of course, as plain conversations. Initially they were curt discussions about following the king’s orders, but over the past year they had taken such a turn that Margarry suspected that her father had grown to respect the girl, and did not mind her presence among the realm’s squires.

Margarry herself did not have an opinion either way regarding the status of females in war. She had heard legends about the King’s Champion, and had even seen the Queen’s Riders in action before. She wasn’t interested in engaging in combat personally, and she didn’t know any girls who wanted that kind of life, but she didn’t oppose it. Her father, though, had once strongly opposed the notion of women in combat. It had come up several times – usually when Squire Owen cleverly inserted his foot in his mouth in the presence of Lady Vivenne. But Margarry wasn’t sure if it was the subject that made her mother so angry, or her father’s resignation.

Thing were easing between everyone, at least. So long as Owen didn’t mention the girl squire again, everything would be relaxed and happy in Cavall.

***

“It was Kel who taught me to fight with the staff,” Owen told Margarry over dinner one late January evening. “I mean – well – my lord taught the basics, of course, but Kel worked with me in practice and really showed me how to use a staff.”

“Keladry of Mindelan? The girl who made my father sour for years?” Margarry asked, passing more bread to the hungry young man. He had spent the entire day fencing with her father, and looked as though he needed all the nourishment he could get.

Owen nodded, unaware – as ever – of Wyldon’s frown or Vivenne’s sniff of disdain. “She’s a gifted fighter. The best of our class, without a doubt.”

Lord Wyldon coughed. “Jesslaw, I believe I should be the one handing out praise of that magnitude, not a mere squire.”

“Sorry, sir,” Owen said with a frown.

Margarry reveled in her parents’ discomfort with this subject. Perfect. She poked Owen playfully in the ribs. “Why do you frown so, squire? Do you fancy yourself in love with the girl?”

Owen’s face flushed, but Margarry kept a firm hold on his eyes. She’d learned from her father than maintaining eye contact was the key to rooting out the truth. But when his eyes darted to her father, she couldn’t help but follow. Lord Wyldon was staring coolly at the young man.

“I-it’s not like that at all,” Owen stammered. “Kel’s one of the fellows. She never gave—” he stopped short, glancing again at Lord Wyldon. “Pages and squires don’t have time for romance.”

“Good thing, too,” said Lady Vivenne frigidly.

Margarry was more than familiar with her mother’s Conservative values, but she imagined it was shockingly bitter to Owen. The Jesslaws were a Progressive stronghold in Tortall.

Owen frowned deeper, pushing his potatoes around on his plate. “Lady Vivenne,” he began slowly. “Have you ever studied Tortallan history?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know about the female warriors who fought in the name of the goddess?”  
She bristled. “Of course. The temple guards are crucial for the safety of women and those who seek amnesty.”

“Jesslaw,” Lord Wyldon warned through gritted teeth.

Margarry’s eyes widened as she saw Owen’s chin raise ever so slightly in defiance. “The temple warrior-maidens now merely control the temple and keep men out when necessary. But there was once a time when they defended women’s honor from bandits and abusive husbands, and traveled across the realm helping women tackle all sorts of injustices. And long ago, over a hundred years ago, women in Tortall were permitted to earn their shield. They fought beside the men of the realm, and they were treated as equals among knights. During the conquering years, when Tortall’s boundaries were growing, it was the female knights who fought the hardest. The hill men and the Bazhir’s ancestors fought hard against Tortall, and all able fighters were necessary.”

“Is that true?” Margarry asked her father. She had learned very little about the specifics of the conquests – only that the Gods favored the Tortallan kings, and spreading to the sea was a sign of their partiality.

Wyldon nodded curtly. “Yes, there were many women who were fighting during that period.”

“Pray tell, what is your point, Squire Owen?” Lady Vivenne asked harshly. Her elegant beauty was nearly lost in her scowl. 

Margarry witnessed Owen’s resolve crumbling under her mother’s severe gaze, but his cause was taken up by another.

“What he means, dear, is that Squire Keladry is very much like those warrior maidens. She defends those unable to defend themselves, and exists by the Code. She is not a foolish girl.” Lord Wyldon’s gaze was as stern as his wife’s. “Let us find more appropriate dinner conversation than debate.”

Margarry half-listened to the ensuing conversation about the kennels; instead, she studied her father. His expression was mild, but she knew his lips were pressed too tightly together and his hands gripped his goblet fiercely. She’d been a trouble-making girl long enough to know the signs of her father’s ire. He was not a man who lost grip of his temper often, and she usually pitied the person it was directed at. She had never seen him so angry with her own mother, though. 

Margarry sighed and picked up her own goblet. Perhaps, with time, her mother’s values would change. They would have to, if harmony in Cavall and Squire Owen were to co-exist in the next two years.


	3. Blossoming

After a month home, Wyldon discovered that his feeling of discontent was slowly slipping away. He was still disappointed with his failures, and he suspected that it was a burden he would carry for some time. But being back at Cavall reminded him of all the things he loved in life – his wife, his children, the kennels. Though he was farther from Cathrea, he was closer to his two eldest daughters. Sunarine, though living in Persopolis, was Vivenne’s dearest child, so letters were more frequent. She was expecting, and he and Vivenne were consumed with the pride and misery of finally becoming grandparents.

Wyldon was divided, though. He was enjoying his life at home, and training Owen. The more time he spent with the boy the more he found to like. He was honest and earnest, two traits Wyldon appreciated in a student. But sometimes he was so gods cursed cheerful that Wyldon intentionally pushed him harder than he knew the boy could take. And Owen did not break under the pressure. He rose to each challenge, embracing every new lesson with unbridled enthusiasm.

Even when they began jousting, Owen did so without complaint. He would simply groan as he picked himself off of the ground and declare that flying was “jolly”. It was a relief on many levels when the boy’s improvement guaranteed more passes where he remained in his saddle. On the other hand, sometimes Wyldon wondered if it was a bit cruel to keep jousting against him. So he varied between quintain lessons and actual jousting.

However, training and communications with three of his daughters were not enough to keep Lord Wyldon completely content. Two troubles weighed on his mind: his concerns regarding the conflict with Scanra, and his troubles with Lady Vivenne.

Scanra was the lesser concern, if he were to be completely honest with himself. He’d seen the face of war in the past. He had been a hero of the Immortals War, once it reached the palace, and he had led significant campaigns as a young knight in the war against Tusaine. While he had certainly been away from combat in recent years, he knew that little had changed over time. Commanding a fort on the front was less frightening then the notion of problems with Lady Vivenne.

She was the love of his life. Wyldon was not one to mask his feelings from himself, though he had fought hard all of his life to keep them from others. They had learned to love one another because of their compatible temperaments and interests, and their home life had been pleasant because of that affection and understanding.

Her umbrage regarding Keladry of Mindelan – and by proxy, Owen – seeped into their daily life. Despite his insistence that she not speak ill of the girl, Vivenne made her opinion clear with every conversation that danced around the subject. She had always shared his values, and could not accept that his opinion had changed.

He knew as well as anyone that it took more than one conversation to change a person’s view. Had he not been so biased, he would have accepted Keladry into his student ranks as soon as she had proven herself instead of grudgingly accepting her after three years. Still, knowing this did not make him any happier with his wife.

There was still the same affection, though. When their minds were not wrapped up in the twinges of dislike that had developed between Vivenne and Owen, he felt lucky to get this extended time with her. He spent much of the year missing her; it had been the greatest sacrifice he had made in moving to the capital.

***

Vivenne woke up in the morning to the sound of laughter. It wasn’t that laughter was completely unheard of in the Cavall household, but this was a childish, innocent laugh she had not heard in years. Margarry had not giggled like that since she was a girl, when her father had tossed her playfully into the air.

Smiling at the memory, Vivenne rose from bed and quickly donned her morning dress. There was much work to be done—especially knowing that her husband would be riding north before too long. That meant that there were clothes to be mended and meat to be smoked and dried. The life of a soldier’s wife was never free from work, and now that her husband was away from the palace, she would have to abandon the meager comforts of relative idleness.

She walked downstairs, where Margarry was playing with the house dogs, showing Squire Owen all of their tricks and games. Wyldon was sitting at his writing table, sealing a letter. His eyes darted over to the teens in front of the fireplace, and he frowned. “Jesslaw, I need you to take this missive into the town.”

Owen immediately stood up and bowed to his knight-master, taking the letter from his hands. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know the way?” Lord Wyldon asked, his voice dry.

“No, sir.” 

“Then listen to me carefully.” He proceeded to instruct the young man. “And once you have delivered the letter, please inform the town smith that I will need his help as soon as possible. We left the palace too quickly for me to properly outfit you, so we’re going to have to make do with what I have here. We’ll no doubt need to make a few adjustments.”

“Yes, sir!” Owen agreed with glowing eyes. He scampered off, and Vivenne could hear his footsteps echoing toward the kitchens.

“Aren’t those rather complicated directions, Wyl?” she asked with a small smile. 

“He’ll learn to listen when he sees how easy it is to make mistakes.” Wyldon’s eyes were kind, though his voice was firm. He pulled out more parchment and began a second letter.

“Sometimes you are quite cruel, Da,” Margarry said with a sigh, patting the dogs one last time before heading off for her morning studies. “Mother, I would very much appreciate your help with some of the account books, if you have a chance later in the morning.”

Wyldon raised his eyebrows. “Accounting?” he asked, once she had left the room.

Vivenne nodded. “I know most women do not address this until their daughters are engaged, but Margarry has been my only companion for several months now. What began with her keeping me company while I sorted through the books became weekly lessons in fief management.”

He gave her a warm, tender expression she had missed during his absence. “I remember how you struggled for so long, trying to keep track of our expenditures when we first married.” One arm slipped around her waist, pulling her toward him.

She laughed. “And your mother pestered me nonstop, asking if all Tusaine girls were as slow as I was. Thank goodness you stepped in and defended me.” She planted a kiss on the top of his head, wrapping her arms around him. “Ah, those were pleasant days.”

“And these days are not?” he asked, his voice low.

“They are pleasant,” she affirmed, smiling sweetly at him. “But sometimes I miss the days when I did not have to share your attention with daughters and Scanrans and squires.”

Wyldon leaned his head back to look up at her, his brown eyes serious. “You share me with no one, Vivenne,” he said in a strange voice.

She rested her forehead against his, smiling. “Do you know what I’ve missed most while you were at the palace?”

“Hmm?” His expression was amused. 

“Not that,” she said with mock sternness. “I miss the time we spent riding together.”

“The weather isn’t ideal, but there are some clean roads. Would you like to go before I head north?” he asked softly, one hand tangling itself in her upswept hair.

Vivenne nodded. “Just the two of us, as we did before the girls were born.” She pulled away from him, trying to hide her frown. “I had not expected your homecoming to be so temporary, Wyldon.”

“I have—”

“A duty to fulfill. I know.” She gathered her work basket from the rocking chair by the fireplace. “Your duty has always come first, and that’s one of the many reasons I love you.” 

A shadow fell across Wyldon’s face as he turned back to his letter. The romantic mood had been broken, and she knew that he would not so easily slip back into it, now that his thoughts were on the realm’s needs. But she knew he would be home for at least two more months, and that was a comfort to her, even if he was distracted.

***

Two days later, Margarry found herself in the stable, bothering her father’s squire. “Mother is out riding with Da, and I’m very bored.” She sat on top of a large barrel, kicking her legs aimlessly as she watched Owen brush down his own mount. He had spent the morning running errands for his knight-master, and had ridden over half of the valley. She was relieved to have someone around to distract her.

“Aren’t there things you could be doing? Sewing? Reading?” Owen’s face was hidden from her, but he sounded perturbed.

“No.”

He came out from behind the mare and scowled at her. “You shouldn’t be here. Your pretty clothes will get mussed.”

She laughed lightly. “This frock is hardly pretty. It’s a work dress.” Her slippers, on the other hand, were entirely spoiled from the mud. And they were nice. Her mother would be furious – especially seeing as how they had been given to her as a sixteenth birthday present only a month earlier. “You don’t know much about women, do you Squire Owen?”

He completely ignored her flirtatious tone. “No, I don’t. My mother was killed when I was young.”

She stopped swinging her legs; his sentence was punctuated with the thud of her heel against the barrel. “Really?”

He nodded. “Bandits. So at home it was just my father and brothers and a little sister who was six when I left for Corus. I don’t have many cousins who are girls, either.”

“So I’m your first exposure?” Margarry asked with a sly smile.

“No.” He sounded defensive. “There were girls at the palace that I met during Midwinter, and there was Kel.”

“And how do I compare to the infamous Kel?” 

Owen shrugged. “You’re nothing like her.” He came over to her and leaned against the wall, next to her. “She’s calm and really smart and – ” he saw her scowl and tried to backtrack. “Not that you’re not smart, or you can’t be calm!”

The damage had already been done. She sniffed indignantly and crossed her arms. “You’re a very mean person, Owen, and I demand that you issue me three compliments in order to make up for such a casual insult.” She loved seeing him flustered.

His grey eyes searched hers, but he apparently decided that she was earnest. “Well, uh, I’ve never seen anyone dissect the battle of Port Legann as quickly as you – not even Kel.”  
She nodded curtly. “That was a nice thing to say, and I reckon you’re being honest. Da says I understand military history and battle plans quite well for someone who has little interest in warfare. Two more compliments, please.

“You sing like a lark. I heard you yesterday, when you were helping your mother rip cloth for bandages. I don’t think I’ve ever heard as nice a voice as yours.”

Margarry was taken by surprise. “Thank you,” she said with no pretense of flirtation. 

“And I suppose I owe you one more,” Owen said with a smile. He looked less out of sorts, but his face flushed as he looked down at her exposed feet. “You have pretty ankles.”

Blushing deeply, she hopped down from her seat, so her skirts would fully cover her ankles again. Flirting was one thing, but she supposed she had crossed the line of proper decorum. She began to move toward the yard, but stopped suddenly. “Thank you, Squire Owen,” she said sweetly, and grasped his hand. She squeezed it, dropped it, and made her way back to the house.


	4. Signs of Trouble

Lord Wyldon moved his blade quickly, slashing in an upward motion and stopping short at Owen’s neck. “You’re dead.”

Owen bowed respectfully and then wiped the sweat from his brow. “But at least I wasn’t knocked prone.”

“No indeed,” Wyldon replied, taking a drink from the water skin that hung over a fence post. “You’re also giving me a bit of a work out, so either you have improved or I am aging more rapidly than I’d like.”

Owen smiled, thinking of how the conversation would progress if Neal had been there. Neal would have the audacity to mention that Lord Wyldon was soon to be a grandfather. While Owen felt that his relationship with the occasionally-prickly knight had improved, there were certain liberties he was sure he could never take.

“Why the smile, squire?” Wyldon asked, a warning in his voice. “Are you looking forward to several more hours of this?”

Owen shook his head and assumed the ready position. “Not at all, sir. I was hoping we could move on to other studies.”

They began another bout, and Owen fared as well as he had the first time. He’d made a few good strokes – one that even threw Lord Wyldon off balance momentarily – and then wound up with a sword point touching his chest. 

“Dead again. You need to be faster. Take a five minute rest.”

It was when Owen went to drink from his own water skin that he saw Margarry standing by the fence with her father. They were speaking quickly and quietly, and they both looked serious. 

Wyldon called out, “You can have fifteen minutes, Jesslaw. I have to see to things.” He left the yard with quick strides.

Margarry crossed the make-shift practice field with quick steps. “I’m sorry I’m taking Da away from your studies,” she said. “Mother is suffering from an excruciating headache, and I wanted him to see if she needs a healer.”

“Is she sickly?” Owen asked. Lady Vivenne had headaches often, he had noticed.

Margarry shrugged. “She has spells, but she’s usually in good health. She went through a rough time years ago, when I was born, and was very ill several years back – so Da worries. She’s always had headaches, but sometimes she can’t walk for dizziness and can’t tolerate the light.”

There was an awkward silence between them. Owen could not get the feel of her cool, soft hand out of his mind. No girl had ever paid him heed in the past, and he wasn’t sure if Margarry was being friendly or if it was part of her flirting game.

He had decided, lying in bed the night before, that Margarry had different personalities. There was the willful child, which she showed her parents on a regular basis. Then she was occasionally the thoughtful scholar, when they discussed different lessons they had learned in their schooling. But the flirt was who showed up when they were alone together. She taunted and teased him, and smiled a completely different grin. He didn’t know how to handle the flirting. He’d never flirted before in his life. 

“I would think that Lord Wyldon has reason to be protective of his family.” 

“Are you insinuating that we do things that should make him worry?” One eyebrow arched and she pursed her lips.

“Well, you did mention that you snuck out of the convent several times. That would make me think he’s entitled to be a little concerned.”

“You would see it that way,” she scoffed. “It wasn’t like we were sneaking around to spend time with boys or run off to the gambling houses.”

“You probably worried everyone at the convent.” Owen replied. After five years of living in the palace, he’d begun to understand that rules were often put in place for safety and order. Not that they couldn’t be flouted, if there was a need, but Owen guessed that he and Margarry had different ideas of what constituted a need.

“You sound like my father.” 

He shrugged. “There are worse people to sound like than the Stump, you know.”

“The Stump?” Margarry repeated. She paused, reflecting. “Father can be rather stiff and unmovable, like a stump. And maybe you’re turning into one, too. You seemed like fun when you first arrived, but lately you’re always so serious. Is this what training with my father does to people?”

“No,” Owen replied. “I’m bound for the border in two months. I can’t wait to go – I want to lick the tar out of the Scanrans. But I have to take it seriously or I’ll get myself killed.”

Margarry looked at him for a long moment. “You seem like a light-hearted, happy sort one minute and then you’re pensive and insightful the next.”

“The same can be said of you,” he said, his voice unrecognizable even to himself.  
She moved very close to him and opened her mouth to say something, but Lord Wyldon’s voice stopped her.

“Are we ready to continued, squire?”

Owen jumped backward from Margarry and stammered. “Yes, sir – we were, I mean – let’s continue.”

Margarry cleared the field and entered the house, calling out a goodbye to her father.

Lord Wyldon began the fight, faster and fiercer than before. He usually was not one to speak during combat, and surprised Owen when he opened a dialog. “It won’t do. If we have to leave early, I will arrange it.”

***

“Do you think Squire Owen’s ready for war?” Margarry asked her mother the next afternoon, as they prepared food for the hounds. “Has he learned enough under Father? Will the face of war ruin him?”

“Many men are ruined by the face of war,” Vivenne answered. “Not everyone is capable of returning to a normal life after they have killed and watched hundreds suffer. Your brother-in-law retired from the King’s Own, you might recall, after several years in service. He was fine with the killing of warriors, but was nearly broken when they went to help a town where small children had been captured and killed by spidrens. We never know what might affect a person. I would like to think that Squire Owen is ready for war, but I could not know until he was there.”

Margarry absorbed this. “He seems like a very strong person on the inside.”

Vivenne nodded curtly. “He is strong-willed. I think that will serve him well. While I have certainly had poor moments with him, I know that your father does not think lowly of him. He would not take on a squire if he thought he was useless. Owen will be safer with your father than if he were with anyone else, you know. Not only will your father likely be in a command position, but he’s incredibly protective. He takes his duties seriously, and will train Owen, but also keep him alive through the worst battles.” Vivenne paused, her piercing blue eyes set firmly on her daughter. “War has not been declared, though, Margarry. It’s possible that they could be home before next spring.”

Margarry nodded and fell silent, trying to focus on the task at hand. She wasn’t sure what kind of response she had been looking for. She found herself drawn to Owen, and wasn’t positive that she new why. He was fun to play with, certainly. It pleased her when she saw he was flustered by her flirtations. But she was also content to have more serious conversations with him at dinner or while he was free from duties and they studied the Scanran language together.

“Do you think he’ll become a good knight?”

“And what’s a good knight, exactly?” Vivenne countered. “I think he will follow the code. I think he’ll protect those who are weaker than himself and provide his martial skills to the king whenever it’s needed. But I also see that he has many progressive ideas. I don’t know if that’s what we need right now, with monarchs who are also incredibly progressive. But I don’t know if I have the wisdom to say whether or not someone is good at being a knight. Only time can tell that, I suppose.”

Margarry sighed, wishing that her mother had taken as much of a liking to him as she had. It was one thing for a man to be liked by her father, but everyone in the Cavall household knew that it was her mother’s opinion of things that mattered the most.

***

Owen liked to spend his free time in the Cavall library. He had loved books from the time he was a small child – his mother would read him marvelous tales of adventures and damsels in distress. After her death, he sought out the stories on his own – almost as if he were trying to find a way to be closer to her in her absence. In his first day of Cavall exploration, he had located the small library.

It wasn’t nearly as extensive or wondrous as the library in the palace, but he suspected that he would never see anything quite as nice as that. The Cavall household had a good collection, covering the best of literature and the most interesting works of non-fiction Owen had seen. He was thumbing through an old favorite when the door creaked open and Margarry stepped in.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, her voice soft.

He shook his head. “I’ve read this more times than I can count.”

She tilted the book in his hand so she could read the spine. “ _Divine Meddle_? Is it fiction?”

He nodded. “It was written a hundred and fifty years ago, and it’s a story about the Immortals before they were locked away in the divine realms. Spidrens and unicorns attack villages throughout the Eastern Lands, and hurrocks begin raiding – it was amazingly good at predicting how Immortals would interact with humans.”

“Is it a thrilling adventure?” Margarry asked.

“Yes – it follows the lives of four different people of various stations, and shows how they help their families and vassals survive. The combat is really well described and accurate. The author was a knight from Rosemark.”

“Rosemark? That’s Da’s family.”

Owen stared. “His ma’s side, you mean?”

Margarry laughed and pulled another book from the shelf – a printed replica of _The Book of Gold_ , on delicate paper rather than actual gold leaf. “No, the Cavall clan died out years ago. The last lord had six daughters who all married into other families – it’s actually referred to as the Cavall curse, because the original Cavall blood line ended that way, and it was rejuvenated three times because of a lack of heirs. The land always went back to the crown. King Roald felt my father had earned after the Tusaine War. Da was from Rosemark, though, which is an even older family.”

She flicked to the pages that covered the Rosemark history. Jesslaw was a newer family, not even in _The Book of Silver_ , so he was impressed. 

“You don’t have any brothers, do you?” Owen asked, frowning.

“Not a one.” 

“Do you believe in the curse?” 

“Perhaps,” Margarry answered. “I don’t think it’s particularly bad, as far as curses go. Would my parents have been happier with sons? I don’t think so. And would your visit here be better if the Lord of Cavall’s youngest son were present, resenting your position as his father’s squire while he tended the kennels? I don’t think so.” She smiled mischievously. “And I’m certain Da wouldn’t trade any of us girls for one boy. Girls are much more fun, you know.”

She came closer to him, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. She smelled like fresh-cut flowers even though it was the middle of winter. She leaned into him, smiling, and whispered, “Owen, I’m going to kiss you – is that all right?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a nod. Muscles he hardly remembered that he had – in his stomach, his lips – twitched with nervous anticipation. But when she finally pressed her lips to his, he didn’t feel anxious anymore; he kissed back, forgetting everything but the feel of her mouth against his and the flowery scent of her hair.

“Jesslaw.” Lord Wyldon’s cold voice cut through the giddy haze of Owen’s mind. 

Margarry jumped away and grabbed the book from Owen’s hands. “I-I have to be going,” she said nervously before rushing around her father to leave the room.

Owen was afraid to look his knight master in the eye, but he did so. Lord Wyldon’s face was stony, and his eyes hard. Owen groaned inwardly. “Do you need me, my lord?”

“We leave in three days. We’re going to the Tyran border and we have to move swiftly, so you will need to pack as lightly as possible.”

“Yes, my lord. Can I ask why we must leave?”

“May you ask?”

Owen winced. “May I ask why we must leave?”

Wyldon studied him, a slight frown on his face. “If I refused, what would you think?”

“That you have your reasons,” Owen answered. _That you want to keep me away from your daughter?_

Wyldon nodded; apparently he was satisfied with Owen’s answer. “There has been some trouble in a Carthaki refugee camp and the King’s Own are occupied elsewhere. With the skirmishes in the North and our Riders busy dealing with the hill men and pirates in the southwest, ruffians find it easier to attack elsewhere in the realm.”

Owen gulped. “So they’ve attacked the refugee camps.”

Wyldon nodded curtly. 

“But why are there still refugee camps there?” Owen asked. “The wars ended almost ten years ago, and Carthak’s been growing prosperous over the past few years.”

“You are right,” Wyldon answered. “The nation has been rebuilding quickly and has become prosperous. When a nation has to be restored, it comes at the expense of others. Many slaves left Carthak so they would be able to earn wages and start anew. Others chose to stay, and remain with an emperor they thought would be kinder. Social structures take years to change, and as long as people remember the slave system, the former slaves will not be treated like other citizens – even here in Tortall. We abolished slavery years ago, but it’s rare to see a former slave excel within our own social system. There are exceptions, of course.”

Owen felt disenchanted. “Will it be the same with accepting women in the military? Will we always frown at Riders and lady knights?”

“Possibly. Change takes time and patience.” Wyldon rested his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “We waste time. Come to my study so we can discuss what will need to be taken with us.”


	5. Common Sense

Wyldon paced the floor of his bedroom for a good twenty minutes before Vivenne came up to bed. He had seen the entire exchange – how his daughter had approached his squire and made the first overtures of romance. The situation had been entirely in her hands, and he could not blame or punish Owen. But it was clear that he had to get him away from the environment. Perhaps the trip south to the refugee camps would offer a chance to refocus his squire.

When Vivenne arrived, he described what he had seen. “And you’re sure that he did nothing to encourage his advances?” she asked, once the story had been fully recounted.

He nodded. “As far as I know, it was entirely in her hands. He was being courteous and friendly, certainly. I’m sure he’s interested, but he has made no gestures.”

“I would send her back to the convent, but you can see that it did her little good,” Vivenne said with a scowl. “Maybe we should send her to her grandmother.”

“My mother?” Wyldon asked incredulously. Very few women were feared as much as Lady Nalda of Rosemark – but perhaps that was what his daughter needed.

“I was thinking of _my_ mother in Tusaine,” Vivenne said dryly. She changed into her nightgown and slipped under the covers. “Please stop pacing, Wyl. I’ll never get to sleep with you moving about.”

He sat on the bed next to her. “I’m going to be leaving soon; there are signs of trouble in one of the refugee villages.”

“And you think you and your squire can handle it by yourselves?” Vivenne raised both eyebrows skeptically. “Or do you simply want to take him away from here to avoid complications?”

He sighed. “Several knights are heading down to the village to help, and I plan to meet them en route. But it doesn’t hurt to deprive Owen of her attention.”

“I will speak to Margarry,” Vivenne said severely. “It’s not unusual for a sixteen-year-old girl to be attracted to whatever young man is near her, but she should know not to compromise your training. Or her own future, for that matter.”

Wyldon leaned back against the down pillows with a sigh. “It’s Eiralys all over again, isn’t it? She would flirt with my pages and ruin all semblance of concentration.”

“She wasn’t half as bad as they were,” Vivenne reminded him. “The older boys fawned over her, and she appreciated it. But none of the girls have ever been as bold as Margarry.”

“We encouraged her to be outgoing as a child – she was so sickly. Never did I think I could be encouraging her to make such advances toward a boy at such a young age.” Wyldon’s frown deepened. “Her sisters weren’t as fast.

“Wyl, Eiralys was betrothed at sixteen.” 

“She was more responsible. And we were able to pick out her husband!”

“I was younger than Margarry when we married,” Vivenne reminded him. “And I was still reading romance novels and didn’t have an ounce of common sense.”

“Yes you did,” Wyldon replied. “You chose to marry me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Vivenne laughed. “Throwing myself into what should have been a loveless marriage because I liked your _stallion_? Yes, I was the quintessential example of common sense!”

“All right,” he agreed, grimacing. “You didn’t have a lick of sense, and neither did I, and that’s why our daughter is compromising her entire future by fancying a boy who will be in and out of her life for the next three years. Whatever did we do wrong by our girls?”

“There’s no use stressing,” Vivenne sighed. “If it’s a flight of fancy, he’ll be out of her mind as soon as he’s out of her line of sight. And if it’s something greater,” she said reluctantly, as if she didn’t want to consider the option, “you’d best work the boy into a man we can be proud of as a son-in-law.”’

Wyldon groaned, climbing into bed. “I don’t ever want to hear Jesslaw’s name and son-in-law in the same phrase ever again.”

***

“I hear you are to leave tomorrow,” Margarry said by way of greeting as she walked into Owen’s quarters the following evening.

He looked up from the bag he was packing. “I don’t know that you should be in here,” he said nervously.

“Nonsense. The door is open. My parents will have no reason to be alarmed.” She smiled prettily up at him. “I’ll miss having someone my age to talk to. But I’ve brought something for you to take with you.” She held out a small pouch.

He took it and opened it. He could see only smaller cotton bags, each tied with a different colored ribbon, but the aroma of strong herbs wafted out. It was both pleasant and unpleasant to his sensitive nose. “Healing herbs?” he asked.

“Sort of.” She plopped down onto his bed and began folding his clothing, gently placing each item in his satchel. “Those are strong herbs that do a number of things. Some give you stamina, one should ease any hurts. And one should help your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

Margarry paused in her work to look up at Owen with such a stern expression that he was easily able to see the resemblance to her father. “As evening progresses, you tend to squint and rub your eyes a lot. I think you strain them with all your reading – or maybe you’ve just got bad eyes and you’ve never bothered to see a healer. No matter, that particular blend will ease the strain and you won’t have as many headaches.”

Owen felt his face flush. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of someone other than Lord Wyldon observing him so diligently. He examined the pouch; it was made of simple brown cloth – almost the shade of her eyes, he noted – with a daisy embroidered on it in white and yellow stitching. A sensible suede cord tied it shut. “Thank you,” he murmured, placing it among the traveling clothes he had laid out for the next day’s journey.

“Just put a pinch in your tea or water,” she instructed. “The flavors are sweet, and each different one is labeled.” 

She didn’t leave, as Owen suspected she would. After going the entire day – including supper – without seeing her, he had assumed that Lord Wyldon had commanded her to stay away.  
Owen had tried not to think about the kiss. His first duty was to his knight-master, and he had been in Lord Wyldon’s service all day. But now that she was here, and the room smelled like her hair, he couldn’t forget what her lips felt like against his.

And she didn’t leave; she continued to neatly pack all the items he was to take with him. 

“What do you plan to do while we’re gone?” he asked after thanking her for the help.

She shrugged. “Help Mother maintain the fief. Read the book you were looking at last night. Continue training the dogs. There’s plenty to keep me busy, even without practicing Scanran with you.”

Owen smiled. “So it’s back to life as usual?”

“Yes. Back to boring.”

“Has the distraction been nice, then?”

Margarry nodded enthusiastically, several curls falling out of the simple knot at the base of her neck. 

“How do you get your hair to smell like flowers?” he asked, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Part of him wanted to lean his head against hers, so he could get a stronger sense of her scent.

“Fancy bath soaps,” she answered honestly.

He opened his eyes as a thought dawned on him, and he laughed. “You want to smell like a daisy!” he accused.

She nodded. “If you had a namesake, you’d either reject it or embrace it.”

“Then that’s what I’ll call you. In Common Tortallan.”

“I’d like that,” she said, blushing prettily.

“But we can’t go kissing one another,” Owen insisted, though Mithros knew it was something he would have liked to do again.

Margarry frowned. “Did you not like it?” Her voice was unsteady.

“That’s not what I meant at all!” Owen cried. “It’s not that I don’t like you that way. I just... don’t have time for a sweetheart. And of all the girls to choose in the realm, my knight-master’s daughter isn’t the one I should be stealing kisses from.”

“Oh.” She had been holding the bottle of oil Owen used for leather, but she set it down beside his satchel. Her face was impassive, but she squared her shoulders before addressing him again. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, then. I hope you have an eventful and educational trip.” She didn’t look at him as she walked out of the room.

Owen sighed and sat down at his desk. That hadn’t felt very good. But at least she hadn’t cried. He couldn’t have handled tears.

He considered writing to Neal – he knew all about love and sweethearts, didn’t he? But there were two problems: he had no idea where Neal was, and he suspected that his older friend had more experience pining over girls than trying to nicely turn them down.

***

Lady Vivenne was stripping more cloth into bandages in her work room when her daughter rushed in, her face red and her breath short.

“Merciful Mother, what’s wrong?”

Her daughter stopped, clutching the back of a chair with one hand and covering her face with the other. “I didn’t... want to cry... in front of him,” she said, taking deep breaths in an obvious effort to regain composure.

Vivenne dumped the bandages onto the table and crossed the room to take her daughter in her arms. Margarry’s eyes were wet with unshed tears when she looked up at her mother. “What’s wrong, dear? Did your father say something ridiculously insensitive again?”

“He’s ruined everything,” Margarry moaned. “I don’t even know why I’m so upset, Mother. I barely know him. But I’m so... frustrated.”

It wasn’t anything Wyldon did, Vivenne realized. She placed two fingers beneath her daughter’s chin and tilted her head so they could look one another in the eye. Even she could hear the coldness in her voice when she spoke: “Your father told me that you and Squire Owen shared a kiss. Has he done something he shouldn’t have?”

“No,” Margarry insisted, shaking her head.

Vivenne was relieved. Her daughter was not accustomed to young men, and though Owen seemed gentlemanly enough, there was no telling what could have transpired. She pulled back from Margarry, holding her by the shoulders. “Tell me what happened, dear?”

“Nothing happened – that’s the problem!” Margarry wailed, wringing her hands. 

Vivenne tried not to smile. She remembered what it was like to be a sixteen-year-old girl, chasing the boy she fancied herself in love with. “Margarry, is he the first boy you’ve ever felt any kind of affection for?”

Her daughter rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

“But he’s the first one you’ve told?”

She nodded, frowning deeper.

“Let me tell you a secret,” Vivenne said, sitting down at her work table again. “Boys – and men – can be oblivious sometimes. I fell in love when I was fourteen years old, and it took your father nearly three years to say that he felt the same way. And he was quite a bit older than Squire Owen, so there’s really no excuse.”

“Did he say he didn’t have time for a sweetheart?” Margarry asked with an indignant sniff.

“Not quite,” Vivenne answered. “He didn’t really have a choice in that matter. He was just willfully unromantic – I don’t think he wanted to fall in love. Your father doesn’t like not being in control, you might notice.”

Margarry giggled. “How did you win him over, Mother?”

Vivenne met her daughter’s eyes squarely. “I didn’t. He eventually felt the same way I did. I was patient, and didn’t push for anything he wasn’t ready for.” _What the girl doesn’t know can’t hurt her_ , Vivenne decided.

Margarry absorbed this information, looking a little disconcerted. “I really do think he likes me, Mother,” she said. “He said it was a bad time, but more importantly that he couldn’t be with his knight-master’s daughter. If I were someone else, everything would be fine.”

“If you were someone else, my darling girl, he wouldn’t be interested.” Vivenne took hold of her daughter’s hands. “I think he’s quite right, you know. You both are too young to be stealing kisses while your father’s back is turned. And it speaks very well of him that he knows romance will interfere with his training. Plus he cares about his relationship with your father.”

She could tell that her daughter wasn’t nearly as impressed with this as Vivenne was. “Consider what I told your father: if Owen is indeed the right love for you, it is better to put it aside and allow him to grow into the man he is to become. If the gods will this match, time and distance will not prevent it.”

***

“Do you know how long it will take?” Vivenne asked Wyldon late that night, while she uncoiled the thick dark braid that had been pinned in a crown around her head.

“I’m not certain,” Wyldon replied. He took the long rope of hair in his hands and slowly unbraided it, combing through her locks with his fingers. “I can’t imagine taking more than three weeks.”

His wife smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “Isn’t it strange how three weeks seems like such a long time when I’ve spent months apart from you for the last fifteen years?”  
He nodded. “We’re growing sentimental in our old age.”

“Or perhaps it’s because the nest is nearly empty and we’ll have a new lease on life.”

Leaning over her, he brushed his lips against her neck. “Indeed,” he murmured.

“Do you remember our first year in Cavall?” she asked idly, holding his hand to her heart. “We spent every day in the stables and the kennels, getting to know one another as we worked together.”

He pulled her to her feet, turning her to face him with one fluid motion. “I always thought you looked best with straw in your hair and mud on your shoes.”

“I thought you were the most handsome man in the Tortallan delegation during the peace negotiations. And you had the handsomest mount, as well. If I had been the kind of girl to swoon and believe in love at first sight –”

“Then we would not have made a good match,” Wyldon cut her off, laughing.

She kissed his nose playfully. “I know you don’t want to think about this right now – the Goddess knows I certainly don’t – but I’m sure your daughter is quite smitten with Squire Owen.”

Wyldon grimaced. “She’s too young.” He felt like a petulant boy, stomping his feet in denial. “She’s inexperienced.”

“Wyl,” Vivenne scolded. “You are the only man I’ve ever kissed in my life, and didn’t do so until our wedding day. She’s older and more experienced than I was when I agreed to marry you.”

He pulled away, absent-mindedly rubbing his arm. He knew his wife was right. It wasn’t at all farfetched to think that a sixteen-year-old girl could fall in love. But Margarry… She would always be the tiny baby he had cradled after a difficult birthing, the little girl who would climb into his lap and nuzzle against him, ticking his face with her wild curls. “Now isn’t a good time,” he state with a sigh. “Owen has three years of training and Mithros knows how much longer before he’s established. He’s in no place to be courting anyone, let alone our daughter.”

“That appears to be what he told her, Wyl,” Vivenne replied. Her face was impassive, but her eyes flicked up to his, studying him.

Wyldon was actually surprised. He knew the boy was attracted to his daughter, and probably had been since the day they met. He’d felt sure that taking Owen away was the only way to keep his mind off of her. He was stunned to know that Owen felt it wasn’t a good idea to be courting anyone.

Not that Wyldon could stop him, of course. Very few squires made it through their training without romantic dabbling. Wyldon just assumed that Owen would start later than most. To hear that he had apparently turned Margarry away said a lot to Wyldon. He knew that the boy approached everything with gusto. “Restraint” was not a concept that meshed with Squire Owen. 

“I’m impressed,” he finally replied.

“So was I.” Her face was full of admiration for the boy – it was the first time Wyldon had seen that expression since Owen had come to Cavall.

“And I suppose Margarry was not as delighted?” he asked.

Vivenne sighed. “She wasn’t inconsolable. They’ve known each other barely a month; her heart won’t hurt very long.”

“Perhaps she needs a distraction, too. Maybe she should visit one of her sisters.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” she agreed. “Eiralys has been asking to have her in Corus. And perhaps she can join me when I go to Sunarine, when she enters her confinement.”


	6. Parting Ways

Margarry was not at all happy with the notion of leaving Cavall. She could see through her mother – this was clearly an attempt to keep her away from Owen, and she had been expecting it since her father had walked in on their kiss. 

“You know Da’s taking him up to the northern border soon, don’t you?” she asked her mother, scowling as she threw more clothes from her wardrobe onto her bed. “They’ll probably be back only for a week before setting off again, until the Goddess only knows when!”

Vivenne sat on the bed, folding clothes neatly. “Scowl and stomp all you want,” she said serenely. “It doesn’t change the fact that you need a distraction. And it won’t hurt you to spend time with your sister, or learn from her about managing a city home. Besides – Corus will be lively this time of year.”

Margarry rolled her eyes. “Yes, now that the royal family is back on Progress, I’m sure life in the capital with no one there will be _thrilling_.” She flung her last dress onto the bed and moved over to the chest at the end of her bed, where she kept her shoes.

“Watch your tone with me, Margarry. My patience will last only so long.”

Margarry glared up at her mother, but her anger ebbed quickly at the sight of her mother’s face. Instead of the tranquil expression she always put on when Margarry tried her patience, Lady Vivenne actually looked a little sad. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone,” her mother said softly, folding Margarry’s stockings. “You think we send you away because of Squire Owen, but you should probably be at court anyway, as old as you are now. All of my friends send their girls to court at fifteen or sixteen – why should I keep you, other than for my own selfishness?”

“You won’t miss my rages,” Margarry said, sitting on the floor at her mother’s feet. “Or the pranks I pull on the servants.”

“That’s certainly true,” Vivenne said with a small laugh. “But this place will feel much bigger without you.”

“Have you been left alone here before?” 

Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “When your father and I first married he often had border patrol and the like. I was left alone for weeks at a time. He’s been a knight longer than I’ve known him, after all.”

“But it’s been a long time since those days.”

“Indeed, it has,” Vivenne agreed. “I remember happily exploring Cavall in his absence. It’s strange to think I’ve lived most of my life here. I suppose every woman goes through that stage in her life, when her own childhood is foreign to her. Well,” she said, standing. “We have a lot of work to do if you’re to leave in the next two days.”

***

Cavall was gloomy the day Wyldon and Owen prepared to ride out. The snow of the past month was melting in the surprising warmth of the early year, and patches of dead grass peeked through. Everything was muddy and grey and miserable, as far as Owen was concerned. It would be a damp trip south.

And he hated goodbyes. They would come back to Cavall and spend more time here before they went to the border, but that morning he’d been told that Margarry would be heading to her eldest sister’s home in Corus, and wouldn’t likely be back until late spring.

“Last time you rode off to war you got yourself nearly killed,” Margarry said, frowning at her father. “If you do it again I’ll never forgive you.”

“I know,” Wyldon replied, pulling her toward him for a tight hug. “Do me a favor while you’re in Corus, and don’t do things that will make your mother want to tear her hair out.”

“Is that why you’re bald on top, Da?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at him. “Too much worrying about your girls?” Owen whistled low, wondering if any of his friends would believe that anyone would have the nerves to say something like that to the Stump.

“Indeed,” Wyldon replied with a chuckle. “And someday I hope you have a willful brat who is exactly like you, so you can share in the misery.” They hugged again and she walked with him over to Heart, where Vivenne was waiting.

Once they had started talking, Margarry slipped away, coming over to Owen’s side. “Will you miss me dreadfully, Squire Owen?” 

“Every day,” he said with a grin, surprised at how easy it was to talk to her – flirt, even. He was happy to see her lively self, rather than the girl who’d left his room the evening before. “And will you miss me?”

She tilted her head to one side, smiling. “I think I might, though Corus might offer enough diversion to make me forget you.”

“I’d be sad if you did.” 

Glancing over at her parents, who were still conversing low and holding each other’s hands, she pulled a slip of paper from her apron and handed it to him. He pocketed it without reading; if she had waited until her parents were occupied before giving it to him, he could wait to read it.

“It’s the address for Eiralys’s home in Corus. If you should be near a courier, please send a letter my way.”

He nodded. “I’ll do that,” he replied, mounting Happy. “Thank you for making these weeks easier than they could’ve been.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying him shrewdly. “I think I’ve made the next few weeks harder for you, though. Da won’t be easy on you, thanks to me.”

Owen shrugged. “I didn’t become his squire because he’d be a soft knight-master. I like work.”

She reached up and took his hand in her own, squeezing it gently. “Be safe, Owen. Especially once you’re up north.” She did not smile as though she knew secrets he couldn’t imagine. Her head was not coquettishly tilted to one side. She looked worried, and a little sad. “And write to me, please. If I can’t have you for a sweetheart, I want you for my friend.”

He gazed down at her, perplexed by his own feelings. He’d spent more time thinking about her than he had any female other than his mother, and he found that he couldn’t bear her frown. He wanted to tell her anything to make her smile. Yes, he wished to keep her as a friend. To be honest, he wanted her as a sweetheart. 

“I’d like that,” he finally said, barely recognizing his own voice. “I’ll write to you, Daisy. As often as I can.” _And maybe over time_ , he thought, _it will be possible to be more than friends_. He still held her hand in his, and neither one could avert their gaze.

“Come along, Jesslaw,” Lord Wyldon called out, having mounted. “We have work to do.”


End file.
